


Strength

by TurtleNovas



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 21:22:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleNovas/pseuds/TurtleNovas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an old kink meme fill, for the Thor kink meme.  The prompt was this:<br/>So Loki might be kinda on the skinny side for an Asgardian, but that doesn't mean that he isn't actually physically strong, especially since he is actually a frost giant.</p><p>Basically I want the five times Loki's super strength freaked people out and the one time it didn't.</p><p>Pairings of any sort are optional.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strength

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, this is from over a year ago, now. I don't know. I'm just going back and posting all of my kinkmeme fills here. XD It's actually all gen except the last part. (I've also posted this over on ff.net, but figured I'd put it here, now that I actually have an account here.)

I.

Sif's heart soars as she presses her advantage, eyes tracking each of Thor's movements as he is forced to retreat from her furious blade. He tries to turn the tables on her, swinging his mighty hammer at her open side, but she parries the blow, his hammer glancing off her shield. She feels the power of the blow vibrating through her bones, but it is not enough to still her advance. She swings again, and he stumbles back a step, heel sliding precariously in the dirt as his knee gives under him.

In that single second, her victory is secure. She slams forward, pushing her shoulder into his sternum, and as he wheezes out a surprised breath, she sweeps her sword at his ankles. It is a practice sword, and not sharp enough to cut, but the force of it is enough to rob him of his balance, and he falls hard on his back. She whoops loudly, presses a foot into his chest, and the tip of her sword to his neck, ensuring that he must concede defeat.

“Mighty Thor!” she says, a good natured smile on her face. “It seems you've been bested by this fair maiden after all.”

They both laugh, and he is smiling begrudgingly up at her when suddenly, there is an ear splitting shriek, and pain erupts within her.

She is momentarily stunned, unable to resist the pull of her attacker as she is dragged away from Thor. There is a searing, sharp pain in her wrist, and her vision has gone white with it. She stumbles, falls to her knees, dropping her weapons, and struggles to catch her breath. When she does finally regain her composure, she sees Loki, face contorted in anger, streaked with tears, Thor's arm tight over his chest as he tries to come at her again.

“How dare you?!” He screams. "You cannot hurt Thor! He is a prince of Asgard! He is my brother!" His voice has yet to change into that of a man, but the high pitch of it only lends power to his wailing. She is reminded of a raging hawk, crying out for it's prey, and she fears him.

It takes the healers a week to mend the shattered bones in her wrist.

It takes far longer for the smudge of dark bruises in the shape of a tiny hand to disappear from her skin.

 

II.

The feast is, not surprisingly, a great one. Thor has returned successfully from his first great hunt, the fruits of his efforts laid before them as the centerpiece of the spread, the best cuts reserved for the honorable members of his hunting party and the most revered of the guests.

There is mead, and merrymaking, music and laughter. It is truly a celebration that will be spoken of far into the future - especially, Loki thinks, when his plan comes to fruition in approximately 3 minutes. There will be loud noise (of the more explosive, less musical variety), bright lights, food raining from the skies, terrified ladies fainting, brave warriors coming to their aid, and Loki will watch it all unfold from a safe distance.

Or, he would have, had the whole thing not occurred two minutes early (clearly, he still needed to work on the timing of his spells).

He cringes as all eyes turn to him. Suddenly, it is very apparent that those castle guards are coming for him, and if Odin's hard gaze is anything to go by, no one is going to stop them. Loki feels fear grip him as he stumbles out of his chair, backing slowly away. Then, the guards break into a run, and Loki realizes he really has no chance of escape without another distraction.

He has no time to think, and is working completely on instinct when he reaches for something to throw in their path. Quickly, his hand is filled, and before he realizes what is happening, he's lifting an entire table into the air, the wood splintering in his grasp.

The only sound in the banquet hall is that of plates and goblets sliding to the floor as Loki hoists the table overhead. He takes a moment to marvel at his own strength, and then let's the table fly at the guards. No one has the presence of mind to stop him as he runs from the hall, drawing his magic close to prevent them from finding him later.

In the weeks that follow, Loki hears whispers everywhere he goes. They wonder what spells would allow such a small boy, barely more than a child, to lift such great weight. They wonder what kind of mischievous beast he must be to brew such trouble at a feast at all. He lets them wonder, pulling their fear to him, wearing it like a cloak, trying to shield himself from the winds of his own shadowed thoughts. He tries desperately not to contemplate what it means that he had used no magic at all.

 

III.

Volstagg's laugh is loud and hearty, bouncing off the walls of the canyon like a beacon. Perhaps, Loki thinks, jaw clenched, it will draw out whatever it is they are meant to be hunting. At least then, these great buffoons would be distracted from their oh so clever teasing.

“Can you imagine?” Fandral asks. “Loki fighting like a real warrior, with sword or hammer? What an image!”

Loki scowls, but holds his tongue.

“Oh come, friends! Loki's magics are a formidable opponent in their own right.” Thor's voice is cheerful, ever the mediator between his boisterous friends and his brother.

Volstagg laughs once more. “Yes! His trickery serves him well where weapons do not!”

So the conversation goes, as they trek through the wilderness. Loki is quiet, his plans for revenge already hatching, nurtured and loved by his devious mind. Soon, they will grow into great beasts, and his brother's friends will be loath to realize that these beasts are hunting them.

When they do finally come upon a creature worthy to be slain by Thor and his band of warriors, Loki is forced to forget his schemes, if only for the moment. It is a massive beast, its step heavy enough to shake the ground beneath their feet, and with a roar so great, it causes debris to rain down on them from the lip of the canyon. As Loki watches, it tears through the Warriors Three and Sif as though they were nothing, mere bugs to be tread upon as it searches for a true challenge. He smiles, pleased to see their egos fail them in their time of need.

His pleasure turns sour, as he watches the beast push Thor back as well. His brother's hammer swings true, though, and by the time the beast sets its gaze to Loki, it is limping, shards of bone pressing into sight under its torn skin. As it bears down on him, Loki casts a wary glance to his companions, each as incapable of action as the next, and each waiting to see what spell he will use to trick his way out of this.

He smiles, squares his shoulders, and braces himself as the beast lumbers towards him. It's hackles are raised, jaws gnashing at him, and he must admit, if only to himself, it is difficult for him to catch it without injuring himself. His muscles tremble as he curls his fists into its face, pressing the fingers of one hand into the soft mandibular groove, and the other into the hollow under it's cheek.

The beast rages, pressing ever forward, thrashing it's body against his grasp, attempting to throw him off balance, but Loki refuses to yield. All eyes are on him as he presses back against the beast, his shoulders screaming in protest as he makes his assault.

When all is said and done, the beast crumples to the ground at Loki's feet, a torrent of blood rushing from it's broken mouth. He dimly notes that he will most likely need to use magic to divest himself of these stains. He sneers at the thought, but doesn't move away as he watches the last of the life drain out of the beast. His fingers are clenched firmly around the wrecked remains of it's lower jaw, torn from it's head by the strength of Loki's will alone.

When he is sure there is no life yet reserved in the beast, he hoists his trophy high and turns to his brother's friends. “How do you like my trickery, now, you dimwitted buffoons? There is no magic here, and yet, the beast falls.” He is smiling. There is only shock on their faces.

As they journey home, Thor's pride fills Loki's heart, warming him, where before he'd felt only cold satisfaction.

 

IV.

Whatever else may be true of Loki, it must also be said the he is nothing, if not a good mother. It should come as no surprise, then, that on this fine morning, Loki found himself sneaking away to the stables to visit his young son, Sleipnir. It pained him to be separated so from his son, to think that the foal was forced to spend his nights in such cold shelter as the stables, even if they were the finest stables in all of Asgard. When he turned his thoughts to images of his son, every day being broken in for his father's use a a steed, he could muster no feelings aside from rage and pain.

Yet, there was nothing to be done for it. By Odin's decree, Sleipnir, his first grandchild would be used as a steed, no matter how Loki protested (and protest, he had). So it was that Loki was forced to content himself with visiting his son as often as possible, to ensure that the sniveling stable hands treated him as he deserved to be treated, to ensure that he wanted for nothing aside from freedom.

On some days, Loki brought with him treats for his dear boy, and other days, he would bring with him Sleipnir's favorite currycomb, to run over his beautiful shiny coat. Today, though, he came empty handed, carrying nothing but his love. So, when his son asked, in that voice that only his mother could understand, if he might fly today, Loki could only smile indulgently and comply.

The last thing the stable boy remembered seeing before blacking out in shock was Sleipnir, legs flailing joyously in the air as Loki, his tiny, Asgardian mother hefted him overhead, playfully making swooshing sounds as they spun in circles.

When the stable boy woke, it was to the sight of Loki gently combing through Sleipnir's mane. Then there was a flash of green light, and suddenly, he could remember nothing of the last hour.

Loki smiled, running a gentle hand over Sleipnir's forehead as he whispered, "Our little secret, hmm?"

Sleipnir whinnied cheerfully and nuzzled his mother's ear.

 

V.

Loki cursed silently, reaching desperately within himself for any trace of the magic he knew to be housed inside of him. He could not touch it though, no matter how he scrabbled against the mist in his mind. Thor's friends, it seemed, were smarter than he'd initially suspected. He scowled.

The great green beast was bearing down on him now. It wouldn't be long until he would be within it's reach, and Loki, loathe as he was to remember it, would never forget what had happened the last time the great oaf had gotten a hold of him. Now, it seemed, was the time to call upon his Jotun heritage.

He cast a sharp gaze over the area, taking in the chaos and ruin he'd made of the city around them. There. He remembered, briefly, a time in his childhood when he'd had a similar predicament. Then, he had not known the reason for his immense, and disproportionate strength. It had shocked him when he'd lifted that table. He smiled grimly. He felt no shock today. The bus seemed but a feather to him as he hurled it towards the angry green blur.

It had the desired effect. The Hulk slowed, shocked by Loki's display, and when he crested upon his prey, Loki was ready. The green beast put up a great fight, but without the advantage of Loki's lowered guard, he could not prevail. He fell unconscious as Loki struck a blow over the back of his head.

The Avengers stood, immobilized by their astonishment.

“Okay, I am pretty sure that he is not supposed to get smashed.” The man of iron sounded endearingly surprised, and for a moment, Loki considered a retort, but was suddenly distracted by the rush of his magic returning. He staggered, somewhat dizzy, and heard Thor calling his name, concerned even now. How ridiculous his brother was.

He smiled to himself, refusing to acknowledge the slow blossom of warmth in his chest as he prepared to phase away. He was disoriented from the abrupt return of his magic, and his upper hand would soon be gone because of it. This battle could wait.

 

I.

Thor knows that it will be many years before the tensions between them dissolve completely, even after Loki has seen fit to let go of his vendetta against him and his Midgardian companions. There will always be a seed of hurt and betrayal nesting coldly in Loki's soul, and nothing Thor can do will ever be able to unplant it. He can give Loki this, though. He can show Loki that he is loved, that he will forever be loved, no matter what crimes he may commit.

It is with this thought in mind that Thor submits. He ceases to struggle against Loki's iron grip, recognizes that, even if continued, he would not be able to break it. Such is Loki's determination. Such is Loki's strength.

Thor has always known Loki to be greater than he appeared. He has always known that within Loki there lay strength beyond the imagining of their peers. Now, he knows why, knows that it's in his brother's foreign blood. It sends a thrill through him to think that, finally, after these many years, Loki is turning that great strength upon him. Loki will use that power to take from Thor everything that he desires, and Thor will be helpless against him.

Loki's kiss is a tempest, and Thor marvels at it, relishing the slide of his brother's tongue against his own. There is thunder here that he cannot control, and the helplessness of it is addictive. He is pinned, arms held high over his head by the vice of Loki's thin, delicate fingers, and when Loki sinks his teeth into Thor's lip, there is nothing to do but moan, hips bucking desperately.

Then, his brother pulls away, his breath cool against Thor's flushed face as he whispers, not unkindly, “I will have you.”

Thor can only comply, his body aching for his brother, for the closeness they once shared, and will share again.

He has never been taken, and for a brief, private moment, he fears, but as Loki turns him, presses him into the wall with that same, unshakeable strength, he finds that above all else, he wants.

Loki does not disappoint.


End file.
